


Married At First Sight: Olympic Stars

by Creme13rulee



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, OR IS IT, One-Sided Relationship, Pining Victor Nikiforov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25555447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creme13rulee/pseuds/Creme13rulee
Summary: World-famous reality TV show Married At First Sight goes worldwide looking for olympic athletes for their latest season.  Viktor puts his hat in the ring after the contract he’s offered will take him a few years through retirement. After all, the producers promise a free annulment by the end of shooting.  On the other side of the world, Phichit does what he thinks is a favor for his best friend by stealing his hanko and making the decision for him. But what really matters is what happens when Viktor and Yuuri get married at first sight.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Phichit Chulanont & Christophe Giacometti, Phichit Chulanont & Katsuki Yuuri
Comments: 22
Kudos: 110





	1. it would’ve been fun/ if you were the one

Viktor straightened the cuff of his suit jacket. Wardrobe had been provided by the show-- even though he had submitted Gucci and bespoke suits when the producers asked him about his dream wedding.

Two months ago, he signed the contract with enough zeros to keep him comfortable for a few years into retirement. The media and fans alike had asked when retirement was coming ever since he won at Pyeongchang. It had been a constant pressure, and so far this show was the best long-term reward for pushing himself through the games. Now, in the height of the olympic year they were roping in all Olympic talent into their reality TV show. Yakov had said to ride the wave of publicity, but somehow Viktor doubted the old man meant getting married.  
Yet here he was, playing to the camera as he swallowed back his nerves. After two months of preparing, long surveys and filmed interviews, today was the day he would marry a stranger. The first time he was allowed to see any of the other cast wouldn’t be until after he met his husband and they flew off to their honeymoon.  
This was a good solution to being lonely, right?  
Everything was provided for, all Viktor had to do was sign a paper and resign himself to the matchmaking. It would definitely surprise the fan blogs and tabloids who rumored around who he took to bed and wined and dined. If they wanted to be realistic, they’d know that it was all an act. Viktor knew the Olympic orgy only by name. His last real boyfriend was in high school, and had dumped him when Viktor was too busy training and winning at international competitions. He didn’t have a line of lovers. When he injured his knee right after his first Olympics, the only people to turn up at his bedside were Yakov and the RSF representative.  
He would surprise the audience world-wide, while also saving himself from dating and having to open his heart to anyone.

Worst case scenario, the contract offered annulment at the end of shooting the show.

“It fits perfectly, mon ami.” Chris straightened the green carnation boutonniere on Viktor’s chest. 

“Okay, the first couple is out. We’re ready for you to take your place, Viktor.”

Viktor blinked. He wasn’t used to being called by his first name. But he wasn’t in Russia-- he was in New York for the next 90 days. After that, he wasn’t sure.

Christophe patted him on the back, following him to the front of the chapel and taking his place as the best man.  
Growing up, Viktor had imagined being crowned with a faceless lover, draped in silk and touring St. Petersburg just like his mother and father had in their wedding album.

Instead, he stood in a suit at the front of a church with more cameramen than guests. He scanned the pews. There was a tan dark-haired male in a grey suit slouched over his cellphone… an asian woman with hair the color of milk tea… and a tiny, plump woman with bleached-brown hair and a giant fabric flower pinned to her chest. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, but her lips were held in a permanent smile. The air smelled heavily of flowers and the afternoon sun filtered through a giant set of stained glass windows at the front of the church.

The man in a grey suit scrambled to take his spot opposite of Chris. He was younger-- definitely younger than Viktor, and probably younger than Chris. He bounced on his heels, barely able to contain his excitement as he tapped out a last message on his iphone. He slid the green case into his coat pocket, finally looking up before his eyes widened. He paled, as if he had seen a ghost. But before Viktor could ask if he was okay, the cue came and the church doors opened.

The man Viktor was supposed to marry was asian as well, his dark hair slicked back, his brown eyes set off by a dark blue suit. He stopped short on the threshold, their eyes meeting from opposite ends of the aisle. For a split second Viktor panicked. They weren’t contractually obligated to say I do-- they just had to give enough material for the show. Drama was good.

The woman next to him urged Viktor’s husband forward, pushing gently on the small of his back. She had a simple blue dress with the same kind of flower as the woman in the audience, and the same eyebrows and face shape. A sister, probably? She led him to the front of the church, smiling privately before taking her place next to her mother in the pews.

“Hi.” Viktor tried to smile comfortingly. A dazzling smile would do no good-- his husband-to-be already looked starstruck.

“H-hi.” Yuuri swallowed nervously, his eyes fighting to find his best man. Phichit gave an encouraging thumbs up.

“Do you have any vows to read?” The priest took his place as the cameras moved in.

“Y--”

“No.” Yuuri spoke a bit louder with a surprising amount of conviction.

“Viktor?”

“No, I don’t.” Viktor corrected himself. He listened for the parts he had to answer in the script, trying to wish the man to look at him instead of his shoes.

“Do you, Yuuri Katsuki, take Viktor Nikiforov as your lawful wedded husband?”

The man-- Yuuri-- snapped out of his reverie, his cheeks burning pink. It was kind of cute. His best man clapped eagerly, ruining the moment for Viktor. He barely heard Yuuri say “I do.”

“Do you, Viktor Nikiforov, take Yuuri Katsuki as your lawful wedded husband?”

“I do.” Viktor finally met the brown eyes of his husband. He could feel his hands tremble as he slipped the silver wedding band onto his left hand. Viktor moved forward, kissing the man chastly on the lips. A spark lit at the base of his spine. His lips were soft, warm and something more than he ever felt before.  
Viktor took Yuuri’s hand in his as they walked down the aisle together. They had a minute of reprieve, and the distance from the camera melted the tension in Yuuri’s shoulders.

“So...What sport do you play husband?” Viktor lifted Yuuri’s hands in his and ran his finger over the cold metal of his ring.

“Sorry?” Yuuri looked up, frowning as if Viktor had misspoken.

“What sport do you play?” Viktor repeated. Yuuri pulled his hand out of his grasp and he turned, walking without a word down the hall to the dressing room.

“Mon ami.. Please tell me my ears fooled me.” Chris set his hand on Viktor’s shoulder.

“I don’t understand what the problem is.” Viktor’s fingers kept their shape, suddenly empty and cold. Burned by the sudden absence.

“Yuuri placed third at the Olympics… he was fourth in the Grand Prix Final.” Chris kept his voice low, but it only made Viktor’s transgression more grave.

“He’s an ice skater?” Viktor squeaked, his stomach plummeting in dread.

“Where’s Yuuri?” Phichit emerged from the chapel, phone in hand. 

“Viktor asked what sport he played.” Chris repeated flatly. Viktor felt a spark of betrayal before realizing that Chris was speaking to the man with some sort of familiarity.

“Oh no…” Phichit groaned.

“I have to find him and apologize.” Viktor pulled a hand through his hair.

“No way!” Phichit bit. “He… uh.. He likes his space. It won’t help.”

“He’s probably talking to a producer.” Chris murmured. 

“I thought you were my friend.” Viktor snapped. Both best men stepped back. 

“I thought you paid attention to the people below you on the podium.” Chris said stiffly. “He’s only a few years younger than me. He was in the international Junior circuit with me.”

“I’m going to say sorry!” Viktor’s voice rose.

Phichit bit his lip. “I don’t know if that will help.”

~~  
In the end, no one found Yuuri. The producers escorted the wedding party to the reception downstairs and Viktor waited alone for their grand entrance. Yuuri arrived ten minutes later, accompanied by show staff. He stood next to Viktor, his hands by his side and put perfectly together. Viktor looked for the trace of tears, but Yuuri hid it perfectly.

“It would be great if you walked in holding hands, and wave when everyone throws the flower petals.” One of the producers prompted them. Viktor waited for Yuuri to move. He watched expectantly for a refusal, but Yuuri was quiet. He took his hand at the last second, his fingers stiff around Viktor’s. They stepped into the ballroom to cheers and a rain of fresh flower petals. Viktor would treasure it, but Yuuri pulled away the second he could and they walked separately to the head table.

“Yuuri--” Viktor reached out to touch Yuuri’s hand, hoping to get some eye contact.  
Yuuri flinched, his hand jerked and knocked over the glass of champagne across the table.

“Oh-- sorry--” Viktor stood up, grabbing a cloth napkin to mop up the spilled drink. “Let me get you more--”

“I got it.” Yuuri said stiffly, righting the glass and taking his leave.

Viktor was married, but he might as well be alone.

Yuuri spent the rest of the reception floating table to table, avoiding Viktor and refilling his glass at every table. 

Viktor didn’t understand. He knew he had insulted a fellow member of his sport, but his ignorance was only about part of the man's life. Surely he could put aside his job and the slight for a while?

Viktor’s first guest outside of Chris was Celestino Cialdini. Viktor knew him, if only thanks to Yakov. Celestino had been a trailblazer in pairs ice skating and responsible for a few world champions before Viktor took his place at the top of the world. Cestino had been at every single gala Viktor had attended. 

“Viktor,” The coach is always smiling, but something about his tone makes Viktor’s mouth snap shut. It wasn’t a greeting so much as a sentence starter. “You better fix whatever you did to my student, or you’ll find out how much of the ISU really is on your side.” Celestino patted him firmly on the back, hard enough that Viktor felt the air leave his lungs.

“I---” Celestino left before Viktor could defend himself. Yuuri managed to evade him for the rest of the evening. The only time they were closer than 3 meters was during the cake cutting. His best man-- Phichit Chulanont-- fetched Yuuri’s dinner plate off the head table. Yuuri took a bite of the wedding cake before handing the inaugural slice over to Viktor to try himself. 

“You haven’t apologized yet?” Chris sat at the head table with his own slice of cake, finally escaping from the wedding party table. He had spent most of the party talking with Phichit and ignoring his duties as best man. “You look miserable.”

“He won’t let me.” Viktor used his fork to tear his slice of cake into crumbs. Nothing tasted good over the bitter tang of heartbreak. “I don’t understand. I just asked him what sport he played. It’s not my fault I have a terrible memory.”

Christophe hummed through the fork in his mouth. “Phichit said his coach was upset. Yuuri said he was going to retire.”

“What?” Viktor dropped his fork. “When?”

“Over text, when he went missing during the ceremony.” Chris said matter-of-factly. “Makes me think whatever you said was personal to him. Maybe he’s a fan?”

“You call yourself a fan,” Viktor frowned. “It’s called friendly competition.”  
Viktor jumped as the table shook, something heavy slammed down onto it with enough force to make the china setting shake.

“You!” Yuuri slurred. His suit jacket was gone, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his tie pulled loose over his heart. Christophe’s eyebrows raised, a sweet smile replacing his concern as he watched Yuuri.

“I hate you,” Yuuri growled. Viktor’s heart sank somewhere under his stomach. He had trolls and antis on twitter, but he never had someone say it to his face.

How strange it was that Yuuri was the one to break down into tears. 

“Okay! Yuuri, you’re drunk!” Phichit jogged up behind his best friend and put an arm around him.

“I got to marry Viktor Fucking Nikiforov ‘n he doesn’t even know who I am.” Yuuri muttered, sniffling wetly. 

“Yuuri, let’s get you in your hotel room before you do anything you regret.” Phichit nudged Yuuri toward the doorway. Yuuri grabbed at the wine bottle he had slammed onto the head table. Camera’s moved from taking establishing shots to following Yuuri and Phichit’s drunk escape from the party. 

It wasn’t even nine yet.

“You should go.” Chris spoke after they both watched the two men disappear. “Think about what you want to say. It’s going to be on TV, after all. “

There was nothing more Viktor dreaded than continuing whatever mess this was. But he couldn’t stand the eyes of an entire ballroom either. He stood up, following Yuuri’s lead. But instead of going upstairs to their hotel suite, Viktor went the opposite way. He chose random doors until he was in the cargo doc, sitting on a curb next to a row of empty blue laundry hampers.

He opened his phone, ignoring twitter notifications and his unread emails from Yakov to open youtube.  
He started with the last Grand Prix Final, watching every recorded free and short program with Yuuri’s name on it. They were all decent-- good enough to qualify for international competition, but his technical skills were always dependent on artistry to fill in the gaps.

Viktor could recognize some step sequences from his own choreography-- but that wasn’t unique. If you wanted to win, you copied the winner. 

But then it was the last video, the only one not uploaded by an ISU fan channel. The only one where Yuuri wasn’t in a costume. It wasn’t the thumbnail that was interesting--it was the title. Stammi Vicino.

Viktor watched it, the confusion at Yuuri’s hatred turning to confusion and a strange ache. He could feel Yuuri reaching out to him. The longing Viktor put into his program spoke from every curve and turn of Yuuri’s body.

He had done Viktor’s program better than Viktor himself.


	2. Hotel Champange

“Viktor, we need you with the rest of the crew. You need a camera with you at all times during shoot hours.” The producer scolded him. He had earned about half an hour of reprieve before the producers were calling and telling him to come to the lobby.

The party had died down. Yuuri was in the wedding suite, and Viktor was expected to be there too.  
It felt like walking to death row, all the media exposure included. The crew used the key card in order to get a better shot of Viktor walking into the hotel room.

Phichit and Yuuri were sitting on the california king size bed, the swan-shaped towel arrangement set carefully on the floor. Phichit was still fully dressed, but Yuuri was in his boxers and shirt , a bottle of expensive champagne tucked between his knees, his eyes glossy and red. He was cuddled against his best man, and a strange part of Viktor felt...jealous. He wanted Yuuri’s head resting on his shoulder. Even if the man hated him. At least it was an honest feeling.

“Yuuri, that was for the honeymoon toast.” The producer tsked.

“He lost English about half an hour ago.” Phichit sounded just as cheery as he did before the ceremony. “He stopped crying though!” Yuuri focused on the flat screen TV. Some sort of mid-nineties movie was playing on it.

“It’s fine. I don’t think a toast really fits into our storyline.” Viktor cleared his throat. He set his coat on the back of a chair and took off his tie, folding it and leaving it on the desk. He slipped off his shoes and sat on the bed, taking up Yuuri’s other side. He left a respectable amount of space between them. Yuuri was missing a sock and didn’t seem to care. An actor on the screen threw up his hands and sang “Shall we skate?”, Phichit and Yuuri saying it in unison with perfect timing. Yuuri’s accent was thicker, the l’s closer to r’s and each consonant hanging onto a vowel. Viktor watched the entire musical number with them, intrigued.

“Has he eaten anything?” Viktor asked during the next piece of quiet dialog. Phichit had started playing with Yuuri’s hair. Most of it had fallen out of its style, and what didn’t stuck out at random angles. 

“His mom came up with his food when we first got here.” Phichit answered, his voice carefully neutral. “Yuuri. Water.” Yuuri turned his head obediently and his friend tipped a water bottle to his mouth.

“I have to pee. Can you take Yuuri duty?” Phichit asked ten minutes later. Before Viktor could answer one way or the other Phichit transferred Yuuri’s weight onto Viktor’s shoulder and scooted off the bed. Yuuri immediately melted into him, sliding down until he was sprawled across the duvet, his head resting in Viktor’s lap.

“Oh-- uh, let’s get you sitting up--” Viktor leaned forward, freezing when Yuuri’s hand reached up. Yuuri touched his cheek , then traced his lips with a delicate touch. He stared with the bravery only the drunk have, and Viktor didn’t dare move. His touch was pure reverence, as if he were meeting the icon of a saint. His eyes sparkled, holding more light than seemed humanly possible.

“Hi,” Viktor breathed, sparks flying up his spine when Yuuri’s fingers rested, feather-light, on his lips.

He looked like he wanted to be kissed. But he was drunk, and he had just told Viktor he hated him.

“Oh man, I so want a picture of this but Yuuri would kill me.” Phichit bounced from foot to foot in the small hallway that lead to the bathroom and hotel door.

“Why would you want a picture?” Viktor bit his bottom lip, his mouth parting in awe as Yuuri stared at him like he had hung the stars.

“Because Yuuri is your biggest-- uhhhh--” Phichit slapped his hands over his mouth. 

“I don’t understand you at all,” Viktor muttered in his native language. He managed to lift Yuuri upright under his arms, only to have the man slump against his chest. He felt his press facade disintegrate when Yuuri nuzzled his neck, his face burning hot to the tips of his ears.

“He’s a cuddly drunk.” Phichit fought back a devilish grin. “Have fun!”

“Wait-- you’re leaving?” Vikto’s voice was too loud suddenly, the panic showing too easily.

“Well.. it’s a honeymoon suite.” Phichit shrugged. 

“But… Yuuri hates me.” Viktor gulped. It was hard to say that when said Yuuri was nibbling at his neck and their hips were pressed dangerously close.

“Iii… I think you two need to talk. A lot.” Phichit kept his distance. “When he’s sober.”

“Won’t he just leave again?” Viktor whined. He felt desperate. He sounded like it too.

Phichit rocked back on his heels. “He leaves when he’s overwhelmed. He doesn’t like looking weak. Give him a chance without the pressure.” Phichit fiddled with his phone, averting his gaze.

“Look...I wasn’t really into this at the start when Yuuri signed up. But I’m going to be honest with you. He’s doing this to support his family… and I was expecting some jock-headed nobody! But.. it’s you… and I really want you to give him another chance. For Yuuri. He’s worth it.”

Viktor’s head swam. “Isn’t he the one who gives me the second chance?”

Phichit sighed. “Look… let him sober up… feed him some carbs… He likes tea in the morning, coffee is only for really bad days. He doesn’t really hate you. Really doesn’t. Promise.”

“Okay.” Viktor said weakly. Yuuri was snoring softly against his shoulder, drooling a little into the Gucci cotton shirt Viktor was wearing. Somehow it didn’t bother him.

“Night.” Phichit waved.

“Wait-- can I have your number?” Viktor panicked again. 

“Give me yours and I’ll text you.” Phichit unlocked his phone without looking at it, fingers swift and ready. Viktor recited it from memory, taking a second to translate it into english. His phone vibrated in his coat hung on the chair, just out of reach.

“Good luck.” Phichit waved again, turning and biting back a laugh when Yuuri shifted and pulled a vice-like hug around Viktor. Yuuri was an incredibly touchy drunk considering how he was while sober. But if there was anyone Yuuri would secretly be okay with waking up in bed with, it would be Viktor Nikiforov.


End file.
